Smores, the Doors, and Unwanted Dinner Guests
by lilyleia78
Summary: Slash. It’s all the fun of camping without the annoying sleeping outside bit. Prompt: How to cook for guests while your kitchen is being repaired. Set in the Bordersauce Communication universe, but takes place in the future.


Written for the stupidboysfest on LJ.

**Smores, the Doors, and Unwanted Dinner Guests**

Dr. James Wilson took a deep calming breath and walked through the door. He casually greeted the man sprawled across the couch before announcing, in a deliberately off-hand manner, "Don't forget, your parents are coming over for dinner tonight."

The reaction was exactly what he'd been expecting – complete and total panic. "What!?" House bellowed. "How could you let this happen?"

Wilson just blinked at his husband. He gave the older man a confused look as he answered, "You invited them, remember? Your mother asked when they could see us again, and you told her that they should come up for dinner. Then you handed me the phone to make the arrangements."

"I _know_ that," House said irritably. "You were supposed to set something up and then cancel later. Our kitchen is being remodeled! It's the perfect excuse. Why do you think I got you a brand new kitchen anyway?" House asked in his best 'are you stupid?' tone.

"I was pretty sure it was because you managed to burn down the original one while experimenting with making homemade rat food," Wilson's tone was annoyingly reasonable. He smirked before adding, "And because you love me."

House waved that away impatiently. "Steve was clearly bored with that store bought stuff."

"Be that as it may, you invited them. And I promised Blythe a home-cooked meal," Wilson reminded him.

House gave an aggravated grimace. "How are you going to accomplish that with no kitchen and no grill?"

"The fireplace."

"The fireplace?"

"Foil packs in the fireplace. I can make burgers and home fries that way. It won't be a gourmet feast, but I think it'll suffice," Wilson said with a shrug.

"You're going to feed my father something you wrapped in foil and shoved in a fire." House's voice was flat, but his eyes revealed rising alarm.

"He's an old solider. He'll love it," the oncologist answered dismissively. "I have to run to the store for a few minutes. Is there anything special you want?"

"Alcohol," was the prompt response. "Lots and lots of alcohol"

"How many Vicodin have you had today?" Wilson asked pointedly.

House only grunted in answer. Another detail had caught his attention. Wilson could practically hear the wheels spinning as House asked, "What exactly do you need from the store? You just went yesterday."

Wilson flushed and turned away. Intrigued by this reaction, House pressed on. "Don't we have foil? Hamburgers? Potatoes? Onions?"

"Yes," Wilson answered reluctantly, still not looking his friend in the eye.

Suddenly the answer came to him. "S'mores."

Wilson gave a long-suffering sigh and turned around defiantly, "Fine, you got me. We need marshmallows."

"Excellent!" House rubbed his hands together in delight. "Chocolaty goodness and pointy sticks."

"Sorry, no pointy sticks. I have roasting skewers. They're blunt, so don't plan on accidentally poking your eye out in order to get out of this."

House groaned. "Damn it Wilson! Get out of my head. Do you have to think of everything?"

"It must be difficult being married to an evil genius," Wilson said in mock sympathy.

House rolled his eyes and pointed out, "You would know. You never mentioned it sucks."

Wilson's smile got larger. "Of course not. I'd never complain about your sucking."

The corner of the older man's mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "Wilson! Do you kiss your mom with that mouth?"

"Among other things," the oncologist agreed before leaning over to prove it.

House returned the gentle pressure. When Wilson moved away to grab his coat, House wandered over to his piano. Wilson stilled his movements, coat half-on, to watch him.

When House picked up his guitar instead of tinkering with the keys, Wilson asked, "What're doing?"

House never looked up from his tuning as he answered, "If we're having a campfire we're going to have to have a sing-along. It's all the fun of camping without the annoying sleeping outside bit. Should we open with 'She'll be Coming Round the Mountain"?

"I vote for 'Campdown Races."

"Oh, Susannah"

"Kumbayah"

"Light my Fire," House suggested with an exaggerated leer.

"That's an excellent idea, House," Wilson remarked. "The thing's all set up. Why don't you go light the fire while I'm at the store?"

"I was talking about the song," House scowled. "As in the Doors?"

"I'm aware of that. Stop stalling," Wilson scolded. When House stuck out his lower lip in an irresistible pout, Wilson quickly closed the distance between them. He leaned into the older man but stopped just short of the expected kiss. "You light my fire now; I'll light your fire tonight." He flicked his tongue quickly over House's protruding lower lip.

House shivered involuntarily. "The Doors turn you on?"

"You turn me on," Wilson was turning back toward the door, wasn't even looking at him. He just stated it like it was a simple fact of life. House could feel himself grinning, but Wilson was gone before he could respond. He headed for the box of kindling, quietly humming a very familiar tune.


End file.
